New York City 1948


3:08 p.m.-2001-08-22

throne thoughts

Don't you wanna know what comes out of your ass? I gotta check out the bombs I drop. Might have just given birth to the extra terrestrial fetus that was brewing in your rectum. Plus you gotta discover what your body is capable of digesting. Any bits of pencil erasers? That shirt button you accidentally swallowed? Maybe your shit is coming out electric blue. You'll never know unless you take a glance.

And I mean a glance. If you find yourself pondering the answers to the universe in your poop, your inspecting your fecal matter too much. Schiezer sicko.

Had an argument with a chick this weekend. I informed her that we, as men, have to touch our dicks. She insisted that if she had a cock that she could ignore it. Fondling our little men is not an option. You might as well ask a wolf not to hunt. Or a carrot not to be orange. There is a uber powerful palm magnet embedded deep in every man's cock, and the only way to disable the magnetic bond temporarily is to root around in our jeans for a while. Only then are we allowed free mobility of our hands for a short period of time.

The earnest debate should be how you ladies keep your hands off your tits. I'd be grabbing my joy bags all day if I had em.

I also want everyone to know that Africa is a Roman word. Derived from the general Africanus who barely defeated Hannibal and allowed the empire to expand to our common ancestral land. So all this P.C. bullshit of african-american is misguided frustration. I completely understand and empathise with the culture wanting to establish their own identity and take power away from the European colonial past. But your adopting a term concocted by the first European race to conquer and enslave you. Listen to James Brown, say it loud, be Black and be proud. Don't get wrapped up in some liberal wet noodle pablum. Cause thats what whitey wants, you squabbling over petty shit to distract you from the real issues. Believe me, my pale ass has got the inside scoop on this one.

I did think of euphemism that the politically correct can slobber over. Instead of referring to a man's penis as small, inferior or hung like a two year old, call it fun size, you know, like those little Snickers bars you get on Halloween.

Maybe I'll start referring to my dick as some confection. Zagnut? Mr. Goodbar? Rolo? Chunky? Oh Henry? Bit O Honey? Oh snap I got it - Almond Joy. I slid my almond joy inside of her, rocked my hips in a circular motion, and made the waves of O crash down on me. I like that.

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